After Hours
by Coffee Filters
Summary: Ariadne is clueless to the bar scene and yes, maybe the entire dating scene. Arthur takes pity on her. So while they may be working on the inception job, they have recon of their own, exploring the dating pool after hours. (A play on the rom-com.)
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: **__This is a result of me watching one too many rom-coms. My most recent viewing was _He's Just Not That Into You_. I know. I should be ashamed at the amount of these movies I've seen, but I'm really on a roll. I can't stop. I can't!_

_So this idea popped in my head, which I call "the behind the scenes rom-com that happened during the psychological action movie that is _Inception_." Please bear with me if you choose to read it._

**After Hours**

Arthur paid attention to details. It was ingrained in him. It was part of his job.

So when their architect came into the warehouse the next day, looking slightly bedraggled with downcast eyes and a pucker between her eyebrows, he knew that her foul temper was due to some outlying circumstance that had nothing to do with Eames' teasing, though the Englishman deserved the withering glare Ariadne gave him.

Eames stalked off, sensing the cold temperature, muttering about coming by later, and Arthur made his way up to the small woman in her corner of the warehouse she made her own.

She was facing the wall of inspirational photographs she gathered from magazines, print outs, photos from Arthur or Eames' recon work. She had a few sketches tacked up too, and it was at a few of these, she pretended to be enthralled with as Arthur came to stand a few feet behind her.

"What's wrong with me?" she asked, exasperated, and before Arthur could come up with a reply, she turned to face him. Her fair face was red with repressed emotion, and her lips had an uncharacteristic downturn slope to it. He could see she was trying to make light of the situation, but she was clearly upset.

She gestured out with her arms, before bringing them in to cover her chest. "I mean," she went on, "I'm fairly intelligent. I know the signs. I'm not high maintenance or demanding. I'm not overtly opinionated. I don't have weird habits. I don't smoke. I don't have a chewing gum shrine in my bedroom. I'm not clingy, creepy, crazy, or cold."

Arthur had to bite back the smile that pulled at the corners of his lips as she went on this ridiculous rant. "No," he agreed.

This seemed to be the right thing to say. "So why," she said, coming up to her worktable to lean. "Do I just keep finding these people who treat me like crap?" she demanded.

And Arthur had to look down at his leather Oxfords in thought, unsure of what to do with a team member building with emotion. Despite his earlier amusement, he sensed Ariadne's fury and slight hurt feelings. He wasn't used to someone like her, unwittingly open about, well, anything. He was much used to people like Cobb. Cobb who falsely assured Arthur that he was fine following Mal's death. Or people like Eames, who chose to cope with a smile and a joke, than trying to work out any feelings. Or even Yusuf, who chose to remain silent on his personal life entirely.

But Ariadne? Ariadne was honest and blunt. When she felt things, her emotions were clear on her face. When she had a problem with you, she made it clear. It was simultaneously easy, refreshing but also frightening, especially for someone like Arthur, who favored keeping his emotions in proper check and out of the warehouse.

She started to shuffle papers to busy her hands.

Now wasn't the time to laugh at his team member. For one, Ariadne was a woman, so Arthur was extremely aware that she had different, um, _needs_ than the others in the group. And secondly, she was very emotional right now and needed talking down, especially if they were going to get any work done today.

"So that guy—" he started, coming to stand in front of the table across from her, bringing the conversation to a point.

He knew the source of all of this already. He knew it because Ariadne was uncharacteristically happy for the past few days, and he knew it was because of the guy she met during happy hour a few nights back. They apparently hit it off and had seen each other outside of the bar. He was apparently really nice and charming and funny.

"He's an ass," she interrupted, shuffling more paper around.

"Well, I could've said that," Arthur muttered, which was clearly the wrong thing to say, because Ariadne's head shot up to shoot daggers at him. He felt stunned on the spot.

He sighed. "Look, Ariadne," he said, slouching his shoulders. "What happened?"

She stopped short, her head bent as her wavy brown hair came down to block her face. "He said that he'd call me later," she scoffed, mockingly, and then she frowned. "And we all know what that means."

Arthur was trying to be conciliatory. "Ariadne—"

"I know," she said quietly. "I know the drill, Arthur. It's not me, it's him. It's not that I'm not amazing, it's because he can't see it. It's not because of anything I've done, because—" She stopped to look at him, her hands spread out in front of her as she leaned forward. "What is it then, Arthur? Because I sound damn fantastic."

Arthur smiled. "You are fantastic," he agreed.

"But apparently not enough for a phone call? Or the time of day?" She shook her head, clearly fed up. "I'm so tired of this stupid game that people play. Why take my number, why actually play ball with me—"

Euphemisms aside, Arthur didn't want to hear this. "—Ariadne!"

But she was on a role. "—why say you're going to call, when really, you're just a lying jerk face who can't see a good thing when it's right before him?"

Arthur couldn't help but smile at that. "I suppose drinks after work won't be the best suggestion to get over this, will it?" he joked, lamely.

And she did something she tended to do, something that Arthur should have expected from her. She surprised him. She shrugged, her rant clearly over. She picked up her nearby pencil and went over to find her desk chair. "What do you mean?" she asked, walking away. "Of course, I'll need a drink later."

* * *

Three weeks. They've been working together on this job for three weeks, and Ariadne appeared to be comfortable enough to shoot back shots of tequila like it was water right in front of him. Granted, Eames and Yusuf sat nearby, egging her on, buying her drinks to cheers her new path towards—

"To Ariadne, who is better off without those bastards," Eames said, holding up his glass. Yusuf and Ariadne raised their glasses as well and started to chug.

Yusuf spread out a round to the table, before picking one up himself. "To Ariadne," he said, smiling, "for being too good for that dimwit in the first place!" They all laughed again, a little too loudly because of their consumption, and cheered again, before chugging. Empty glasses hit the wooden table one by one, and Eames began to start a conversation with Yusuf about car chases. Arthur noticed as Ariadne, flushed, smiling, made excuses to go to the restroom.

In the small wooden alcove to the back, he spotted her waiting in line for the women's. "So," Arthur started, taking up the spare space next to her along the wall. Even though it was happy hour, he kept his suit on and his tie proper under his collar. "Feeling better?" he asked.

Ariadne smiled nervously, leaning against the wooden wall too to face him. "Temporarily, yes. Temporarily, everyone loves me."

Arthur nodded. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked a little uncertainly.

She shrugged, shoving her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. Her posture became terrible and her chin rested into her floral patterned scarf. "I'd rather lubricate with booze and swim in the compliments Yusuf and Eames are basking me in," she replied.

Arthur nodded, chuckling. "There's that too."

They stood there for a few minutes, just standing. Arthur wasn't sure where this urge to check on her came from really. He hadn't been drinking as much as his team members, a part of him unused to it while on the job anyway, and he knew that Ariadne was a big girl. She wasn't young, and while inexperienced with dream sharing, she wasn't naïve. No, Ariadne was fully capable of handling herself, especially in this city, where all of them were noobs anyway.

And maybe a small part of him just felt bad for her. She didn't want it. He knew that if he said anything, she'd snarl at his sympathy or pity, but since she came into the warehouse—or rather, since Cobb brought her in—Arthur took a diplomatic interest in her, if only to guide her along in the proper direction. Though, that didn't explain her habit for joking with Eames. She was on the wrong path there.

"I called him," she said, suddenly, and Arthur's ears picked up at her change in tone. The him he spoke about wasn't the Englishman, clearly.

"You called him?" he asked, attempting to ease out what sort of reaction she needed.

"Yeah," she said with a forced shrug. "Why can't I call him?"

Arthur did his best to remain nonplussed. "There's no reason you can't," he said, attempting to be supportive. "What did he say?"

Ariadne visibly winced. "I left a voicemail."

Arthur looked ahead.

"It was a completely normal voicemail," she entreated, though he could see how she even felt that her argument was hollow.

Arthur carefully replied, delicately delivering his words in such a way to not alienate her. "I don't think you should've called him."

Ariadne sighed. The puff of air blew some of her hair out of her face. "I thought you'd say that." Beyond the bathroom door, they both turned at the sudden sound of the flush and the air dryer going off. Ariadne cleared her throat. "Well, this is me" she said as the wooden door creaked open, revealing a tall French woman with carefully constructed careless hair and barely-there make-up that enhanced her natural beauty. The woman spotted Arthur and smiled, which Arthur returned.

Ariadne laughed as the woman stalked away. "Of course," she said with a weary tone.

Arthur turned to her. "I was being polite," he insisted.

"Sure you were, Point Man," Ariadne agreed half-heartedly, her hand on the door. "Go have fun."

And Arthur stalked off to the bar, thankful that French was one of his better languages.

* * *

"So you're telling me," Ariadne said, cutting out a long line in her foam board to create her model. "That it's really not that complicated?"

Arthur, sitting on a chair at the end of her workstation so as not to get in the way of her cutting frenzy, nodded. He had his laptop open in front of him as he went through to check some details. "Yeah. There aren't hard and fast rules or games. Hell, guys aren't that conniving. It's just simple."

It's odd how this became okay for both of them. Usually, Arthur favored working on his own, reading articles and researching at his space on the opposite end of the warehouse, but he found himself drawn up to Ariadne's work table, if only for convenience. He was the second level dreamer after all.

So it became habit, habit became accepted, and accepted became normal to the point that if someone did need him—Yusuf to test his serums, Eames to tease, and Cobb to talk—they headed to the back of the warehouse near the newspaper covered windows where Ariadne set up shop.

"So when he doesn't call me?" she parried. The sharp blade of her exacto knife slid across the foam board in one fatal swoop.

"He doesn't want to," Arthur replied. She ripped the piece off with a satisfying pluck.

And okay, Arthur decided to take it upon himself to help her with her love life, because, well, the girl needed it. She was too honest, which made her believe it of other people, and it was endearing a quality to be near, especially as they planned an illegal job to incept the mind of the heir of a multi-billion dollar corporation, but it wasn't necessarily good for the bar scene.

"And when we sleep together and he promises to call but doesn't?" she asked, studying the pieces she just cut.

"He doesn't want to, but he did want to have sex with you."

"But what if he's going to call later?" she asked, stopping in what she was doing to look at him. "Couldn't he just be waiting—"

"For what?" Arthur asked, looking at her. "The right time? That doesn't exist. No, Ariadne. If the guy's interested, then he's interested," Arthur insisted.

Ariadne's lips twisted slightly with doubt, before she went to cutting out more walls. "It can't be so cut and dry as all that," she said thoughtfully.

Arthur laughed. "It really is."

* * *

"If he refuses to spoon," Eames said with a delight in the last word, "you really shouldn't expect commitment." The table chuckled politely at this as Eames leaned back.

"I got one," Yusuf said with a laugh. He scooted forward, his hands up as he spoke. "If a guy leaves right after," he said with a knowing look around the table as he held his beer aloft, "he's not into you."

Eames laughed, nodding, and Arthur remained subdued as he took a drink of his own. "That's a dead giveaway," Ariadne interjected.

"Ah," Eames added. "But if he makes an excuse? Don't believe him."

"Like what?" she wondered.

Eames looked to the ceiling in thought. "Like work."

"Or a haircut," Yusuf cut in.

"Or a squash game," Eames continued.

"Basically, any reason to leave," Arthur said soberly, looking at her. "Don't believe it."

Ariadne's eyes were wide for a moment as she nodded along. "And you men wonder why we have trust issues," she said primly.

* * *

"Je voudrais…" Ariadne began, chewing on her choices as she stood in front of the sidewalk window, facing the sandwich man. She held her sunglasses over her eyes, still hooked behind her ears, as she considered the menu.

Arthur, his pâté sandwich in one hand and his coffee in another, took a seat on one of the green folding chairs against the wall. It overlooked the cobblestoned street and the crowds of people gathering around a low wall round a beautiful fountain. The water enticed children and cooled the air. Meanwhile, other people out of work and taking a lunch break sat in nearby groups, clumped in circles, talking animatedly, and enjoying the sun.

In a few seconds, Ariadne joined him, holding her own sandwich made with a quarter of a baguette and wrapped in wax paper. She took a hearty bite before she sat down.

Closing her eyes, she hummed with pleasure.

"If they served sandwiches in the bars, I'm sure we could find you a guy," Arthur joked, watching her.

"If they served sandwiches at the bar, I really wouldn't care about navigating the dating pool," Ariadne replied. She gestured for him to take a bite of hers, so Arthur handed over his in good will.

"Why do it then?" Ariadne wasn't listening; she was busy grabbing another bite of his sandwich. "That's still my lunch," he pointed out.

She blushed, then returned it, complimenting him on his choice. "My friend Sophie," she started, before needing to stop to finish chewing. "My friend Sophie told me that I needed to try dating again."

"And why isn't she here to help you on this quest?" he asked, taking his food back, though he realized that asking her questions while eating wasn't going to get anything done. Ariadne held up a finger, the universal sign for a second, as she chewed.

"She's back in the States visiting, ahem, family," she explained.

Arthur started to ask a follow up, when Ariadne stopped him. "And as fun as it is to have this discussion with you, I'm eating my sandwich but not really tasting it," she said, shutting him down.

He had to laugh at that. "Fair enough."

* * *

"If a guy's interested, he'll make it happen," Arthur said matter-of-factly, sitting at their same round table at the bar. Ariadne had convinced him to go out again, pulling Eames along too. Yusuf and Cobb were back at the warehouse, staying for some sort of experimentation.

In an unspoken agreement, Arthur and Eames seemed to take it upon themselves to help Ariadne out. Arthur didn't formally approach the Forger for this purpose, but he knew that the Englishman was wise enough to see just how hapless Ariadne was in this area, especially considering their drinking binge weeks ago.

Since then, for happy hour, after Cobb or Saito called it a day—or even when Ariadne or Yusuf didn't do overtime at the warehouse—they spent it at the bar, attempting to coach their new architect. Granted, she hated it. She refused to try any tips out when they were there, telling them that it was already embarrassing that she was inept, she didn't need an audience of grown men watching her.

So they just talked. They gave advice when it would come up, and Ariadne would brave a question, every now and again or relate something that happened to her the other night, drinking until she felt candid.

Eames nodded, spreading his arm out over the cushioned booth, slightly behind Ariadne's shoulders. "I once shared a cab with this woman—gorgeous! Legs up to here and actually an interesting thing to say—so the next day, I made my way back to her street, when I realized that I had no idea where she lived."

Ariadne leaned forward, interested. "What did you do?"

"I went up to each house to find out if it was the one."

"And realized that she didn't live there?" Arthur added, eyebrows rose.

Eames didn't spare him a look. "No, I found her."

"Then what happened?" Ariadne asked, riveted.

"I realized that she was more interesting after I've had a few," Eames said with a shrug, laughing at the memory.

"That is a perfect waste on a charming story," Ariadne said, leaning back against the cushions, her drink in her hands, and Eames laughed, swigging the rest of his dark ale, before slapping it onto the table.

"That's your problem right there," Arthur pointed out, taking a sip of his beer and gesturing towards her. "You're a romantic."

Ariadne looked admitted to that and shrugged. "What's wrong with wanting a little romance?" she asked, a little demandingly, looking from Eames to Arthur.

"It doesn't exist," Arthur insisted calmly, rationally, sitting back.

Ariadne looked appalled, and she smiled as a resort. "You mean to tell me that you're in Paris, the city of love, the purveyor of romantic art, design, literature, and you don't believe in romance?"

"You do realize that you're speaking to Stick-in-the-Mud, right Ariadne, dear?" Eames asked from the sidelines, clearly enjoying himself. "He's practically a robot."

Ariadne spared him a glance. "I mean, I might be a little idealistic but—"

"Robot!" Eames said, though no one appeared to be listening.

"And that's the problem right there," Arthur interrupted. "You put these excuses or give things a storyline to make it all better, when it's really that cut and dry," he explained. "I don't mean to hurt your feelings, but it's not always like that."

"It could be," she insisted.

"Robot!"

"But it's not," he pointed out, ignoring Eames. Arthur realized that his drinks were making him a little looser, a little more vocal than usual, and he carefully considered his next words, looking at the sparkling Eames and the resigned Ariadne. "It's not a movie, or a book, or a painting, Ariadne. There's no design to make it all tidy."

She smiled this small, knowing smile, like she saw this secret that Arthur couldn't. Leaning forward, licking her lips slightly, her voice conveyed this all-seeing wisdom as she looked at him directly: "Arthur," she started, "one day a girl, a _real_ special girl, who alphabetizes her shampoo bottles and keeps track of her expenses will unwittingly make you fall for her, and you will realize that romance is exactly just mooning and juning and not made up stories."

Arthur shrugged. "That's just a story people tell to pragmatists like me."

And Ariadne looked like the cat that swallowed the canary. "You're scared that I'm right."

Ariadne sat back as Eames looked between the two of them, sizing them up before he let out a loud guffaw. "I'm not sure if you're right, Ariadne," he said, turning to her. "But I sure as hell want to be there if that happens."

And Arthur sat nearby. He kept tight lipped about it all.

* * *

Ariadne looked at her phone again.

Arthur looked at her. "Ariadne, what are you doing?"

"Just—"

"New rule," Arthur said, holding out his hand. "No phones."

"I just—"

"—you're not allowed to look at this until the end of the day. Focus on completing the changes to Yusuf's level."

She looked annoyed, but she placed her mobile into his awaiting palm. "Fine."

* * *

Arthur sat near his friend at one of the communal worktables, drinking coffee and pouring over a newspaper.

Dominic Cobb sat a few feet away, lost in his thoughts as he pieced apart a croque monsieur.

"After this, what are you hoping to do?" his friend suddenly asked, cutting into the article he was just reading. Arthur looked up and looked at Cobb, seeing the turmoil and calculation strongly ingrained in his features. Cobb called out his name, and Arthur folded up his paper, placing it onto the table.

"Go back Stateside. I have a few things to settle," he reeled off.

"Does that mean you're ready to settle down again?" Cobb asked, and Arthur felt slightly uncomfortable under his long-time friend's scrutiny.

Cobb and Mal used to be on him to find some place, to find someone to settle down, preferably near them. Granted, this was during their early years as a couple, when they didn't have kids and when Cobb would never have considered going illegal in dream sharing. It got a little worst when Pippa then Jamie came along: the couple insisting that they knew a girl that would be right for him.

Her name was Laura, and Arthur only agreed to a date because Mal insisted most fervently that they would be perfect together.

And they were, in their own way. Laura was just as busy as he was. She worked as a publicist in New York. She had goals. She even had a particular way to organize her DVDs, which Arthur admired. He told her he loved her after three months of dating. They moved in together, and Arthur was never happier than hanging out in their apartment together, exploring the city. He loved how she always slid her hair behind her ears as she thought or how she shrugged when she thought. He loved how she knew the best way to cheer him up and how to make him proper coffee.

She understood too. She understood that he worked often. She thought he dealt with international insurance claims, mainly because he led her to think so, though he started to consider staying Stateside longer, if only to be near her. Only to wake up every day in their bed.

One day, he came home early to surprise her to find a surprising tableau of a woman and man's clothing strewn in their apartment, leading to a more blatant tableau in their bedroom.

In talking to her later, this had been going on for a while. Arthur helped pay for the rent in Manhattan and wasn't there often. Arthur called at odd hours because of time zones, and Laura was busy with work. It was easy to hide an affair.

Arthur was angry. He was scorned, blatantly rejected, made a fool, but more importantly, Arthur was hurt. He truly didn't see this coming.

He read people.

He just read her wrong.

He stayed away since then, but this past job, he told Cobb that he was going to go back. Laura didn't own the country for God's sake. Laura wasn't at his apartment anymore. He had a right to go back, if only to settle the lease on his place to get rid of Laura's stigma for good. He'd go back to traveling.

Now, Cobb was a family man, so he had this whole notion about settling down, encouraging Arthur to do the same, but Arthur wasn't like that. Arthur didn't have a family to go to. Arthur didn't have someone he needed to be there for, except Cobb.

And that was fine by him.

* * *

Arthur sat next to Ariadne at a high top round table, poised on stools. He sipped a whiskey as she sucked through a straw of a gin and tonic, watching the bar around them. Nervously, she would scratch the back of her neck as she took in what Arthur said.

"He's interested," he said, pointing out the couple that they've been studying for the past ten minutes. Near the bar stood a blonde talking animatedly to a bored looking guy.

"That guy?" Ariadne asked, incredulous, sipping her drink.

"No, no," Arthur said, gesturing to the guy at the blonde's shoulder, eyeing her and trying to get a word in edgewise. "He is." He watched as Ariadne's face fell, watching the poor guy on the sidelines who didn't have any game, while the guy that had the blonde's attention was clearly not interested.

"She's going to spend the night talking to him about her diet, how she bought a sweater yesterday, and oh," Arthur stopped himself as a spill happened at the bar. "Now Mr. Bored has a chance to get away." The guy the blonde had her eyes on, stood up as the blonde attempted to wipe up the spilled drink, distracted.

"You live in a cold, cold world, Arthur," Ariadne said, placing her drink down.

"It's my job to pay attention to details, _Joanna_," Arthur replied, leveling a look at her.

Ariadne bit back a smirk, shaking her head fondly as she set her drink down. "I figured you'd know about that."

"It's my job to know people," he affixed.

She snorted. "So I've realized."

"So why Ariadne? Why not your first name?"

"Only my family calls me Joanna. Some people, Jojo. But when I started school, there was another Joanna," she explained. "And my six-year-old self hated the idea that I wasn't special."

"So you went with your middle name," Arthur finished up for her.

She fidgeted with the straw in her drink. "Yeah. I went home, marched up to my mother, and told her that I had to change my name." She peered at him, her chin pointed down. "I was named after her, actually."

"I'm sure she loved to hear that then."

"My dad supported it entirely," she added. "He's the one who chose my middle name. Myths." She cleared her throat, and almost like it was forced conversation, she asked, "Is Arthur your real name?"

He nodded, completely at ease. "Yes. There's really no point to change it, I think."

"Sort of like Superman is really Superman and pretends to be Clark Kent among us mere mortals?" she questioned.

"That's a bit extreme, but sort of," he said. "It all depends on which one you consider to be your real life and which one you consider to be the pretend life. My work is what I'm around most so I give my real name out, but in a bar? I doubt it even matters."

Ariadne looked amused.

"What?"

"It's funny that you see your real life being the one that's not even in reality."

Arthur chuckled, downing the rest of his whiskey and placing the glass down. "Okay," he announced. "If we're going to dig this deep, why the obsession with finding someone?"

Ariadne didn't meet his eyes, forcing a shrug as she attempted a careless tone. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Nice try."

And she pursed her lips, looking at him, studying him in that way he often caught her studying Cobb. He wondered at how blatant she could be, her lack of grace or pretense, which he found intriguing and amazing. In the business of thieves, and hell, in just watching people, he could see someone play it. Eames was a player. Cobb, Yusuf, and Saito were players. But Ariadne was simply along for the ride.

When she said something or asked something, she wanted that said or she wanted that answer. There was no subtext to what she said or how she acted, which explained her lack of finesse when it came to dealing with flirtation or bar etiquette.

There had to be a reason why she was doing this. He assumed most of the story when she leaned forward, her fingers dancing lightly across her sweating glass, her concentration purely on the condensation, as she told him about this guy. This amazing guy she dated. He graduated last year and moved back to the States for a job, promising to attempt a long term thing, but inevitably giving in to the wiles of a waitress.

"They're still together, and apparently madly in love," she said in that way that was meant to sound like pure fact but was harbored with more emotion than she intended. She swallowed before continuing. "I heard about it from a few friends," she explained. "We were together for three years, and I never heard of Nathan and I described like that."

Arthur just sat there, his hands dangling past his lap. "Did you think you were that way?"

She had this wan look about her as she paused before answering. "No. I didn't, but knowing that he has it now, makes me feel the rejection harder, you know?"

"He's not doing it to hurt you."

"No, but when he cheated on me with her, when was he the bad guy?" she asked, not necessarily needing an answer. "That felt good. Everyone telling me that they're happy together seems to fix it." She started to stab her ice cubes shifting at the bottom of her glass. "Nathan's Sophie's brother," she added. "So I can't necessarily not hear about him."

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, mainly because he wasn't sure what he should be saying at this.

"It's fine," she said, pushing away her glass. "It really is, because I'm doing my best to finally move on." She laughed, taking a step off her stool to head to the bar. "I'm just really, really bad at it."

* * *

Arthur woke in his lawn chair and his eyes flicked to the side where Ariadne sat. She didn't go under this time around. But she sat in one of the nearby lawn chairs, curled Indian-style, pouring over a large textbook on green architecture in her lap. Feeling his stare, she looked up and smiled. She dug behind her, producing his mobile, she tossed it at him.

"Gabrielle called," she said with a knowing smile and an elongated trill of her words.

Arthur looked at the phone in his lap and hoped the heat he felt in his face wasn't visible. "Oh?" he asked, attempting to be nonchalant. "Did you answer?"

Ariadne shrugged, looking back at her textbook. "Moi? Non! Je n'aurais jamais!" she exclaimed with a dramatic hand to her heart, to push the point home that she would never. "How did you have time to pick up a woman last night anyway?"

After a couple of drink, Ariadne called it a night, shrugging off Arthur's offers to walk her home but agreed to a cab. He stayed the rest of the night by himself at the bar, lazily nursing a Jameson and unwinding from work. Gabrielle approached him then.

Sitting in the lawn chair, Arthur shrugged, looking at his phone in his lap.

"Goodness," Ariadne said with a sigh. She snapped her book shut and stood. "Well, at least I have a master helping me."

* * *

They were testing out Yusuf's serums, seeing if the inner ear function modification was working. So far—and Arthur had the bruises to show for it—it was.

"You've been spending a lot of time with the architect," Eames said, leaning on the table behind Arthur while Yusuf got the PASIV case set-up.

"I've been trying to help her out," Arthur said, itching the side of his nose with his thumb.

"Cobb's noticed," Yusuf added, taking the Point Man's arm and strapping on the bracelet and needle. Attached, Arthur took it and started to roll up his sleeve.

"Yeah? I'm surprised he's had time to notice anything," Arthur muttered, though no one seemed to acknowledge it. They all knew Cobb had his own issues he was working with at the moment.

"Should we be concerned that you have a small _tendre_ for our maze maker?" Eames quizzed, folding his arms in front of his chest.

"What is this?" Arthur asked. "We're teammates. I'm trying to help her out. You two have been with us when we've gone out. It's not a big deal."

"Sure, but we're not always with her," Yusuf pointed out. "You two have been more," he seemed to consider his words carefully, especially as Arthur felt his face darken. "_Together_," Yusuf settled.

"We're working together," Arthur insisted. "Of course, we're together." His words sounded thin and too much, in the same vein as Hamlet's mother, and he saw that Eames and Yusuf thought so too. Backtracking wasn't going to do anything, neither was adding more doth-protests, so Arthur resigned himself to sitting back against the back of the chair, glowering.

Yusuf laughed as he pushed the plunger to give Arthur a dose of the sedative. "Sweet dreams," he called out, and Arthur immediately started to feel the effects.

"Of course he will," he vaguely heard Eames say. "He'll dream about our lovely architect."

He was going to punch Eames when he woke up.

* * *

Arthur sat with Ariadne at the bar. She was telling him a story about her first night in Paris, when she had a cold and was in desperate need of cold medication but forgot the French word for sick or cough drops or tissues. And she mimed her actions as she did on that fateful night, making Arthur laugh more, genuinely laugh, as she contorted her face and spoke in a high-pitched voice for the pharmacist.

So Eames and Yusuf had a point. He knew they were spending more time with one another than normal teammates would, but he genuinely liked Ariadne. He enjoyed her company, and with Cobb's internal battle, Saito's pressure, and the drug testing he's gone through, Arthur figured he was allowed some sort of break, and that was thanks to the small architect, who was always willing to talk out an issue with him or to even ask for his advice.

She asked the questions Eames and Yusuf hedged around, about Cobb, expressing her concerns and asking what he knew. Arthur had to admit that he didn't know a lot, but that he knew Mal was a problem, that she was why Cobb couldn't build anymore. He worried for him. He could see it eat at the Extractor, but Cobb didn't want any of Arthur's concern or comfort. He didn't want to talk it through with the Point Man at all. He'd rather pretend it wasn't there, really.

But not Ariadne.

It was nice having someone to talk about it with. It was nice to have someone around whom he could have a straight conversation with. It was nice to have someone who knew these things about him, about his world, and just accept it.

Arthur made his way back from the restrooms to see someone sitting in his previously vacated seat, chatting to Ariadne. He was handsome. He had short-cropped hair and wore a pressed shirt, though his sleeves were rolled up.

He wasn't French. Arthur could make that Ariadne spoke English to him. They seemed to be hitting it off actually, and Arthur couldn't account for that slight feeling of territorial concern as he watched them, waiting for this new guy to screw it all up.

* * *

_**A/N:** Two more chapters left, and I'm completely done writing so the wait won't be long._

_As always, thanks for reading!_


	2. Chapter 2

"Ariadne," Arthur called out, a folder in his hands—a few revisions he needed done on his level— as he made his way to the back of the warehouse, where Ariadne usually worked.

"Arthur!" she exclaimed, her voice shocked, surprised. It took him a second to realize that she was wearing a slim black dress and that her hair was straighter than usual, that she had outlined her eyes with black make-up, and that she wasn't working.

He even said it out of reflex. "You're not working."

Ariadne flushed. "No…"

Arthur stood a little stupidly with the folder in his hands and looked at her. "Where's your scarf?" he asked, that being the only question he had on hand. Her neck was unaccountably exposed and very much _there._

Ariadne laughed a little nervously as she touched her bare collarbone—Arthur's eyes immediately went there—pretending to check. "It's not really something that goes with the dress, Arthur."

"You're going on a date," he stated, a little happy to get back to being methodical and knowing, gaining his feet as she stood before him in heels and a black dress that rode a little high on her thigh.

"Oui, oui monsieur," she trilled, her eyes spirited as she turned away from him and back to her purse behind her.

"Who is the lucky guy?" he asked, regretting that bit of incredulity that came out as he asked.

Ariadne laughed again, continuing to dig into her purse. He studied the back of her. The dress was different form her usual outfits and her art with layers. Instead, this was just _there._ It was a straight shape that hugged her

"Remember Freddie? From the bar?" It took Arthur a moment to realize that she was speaking to him.

"Freddie?" he repeated, attempting to think.

She nodded, turning to him and leaning back on the counter. In one hand she held a tube of lip-gloss, in the other, she swiped a wand of the stuff onto her lips. "We're having dinner tonight," she said with delight.

Arthur didn't understand this feeling of protectiveness that came over him as she spoke. "French?" he said, trying to get more information.

"No. He's Canadian," she said. "He just graduated and is working at a firm a few blocks from here."

Arthur felt him rile at this information. "He isn't coming here, is he?"

She shook her head. "We're meeting at the front of the bar." The bar was their usual place. It was also the place where he remembered the particular silhouette and suit of who this Freddie must be.

"Should I follow a bit?" he asked almost casually, ready to gage her reaction.

Ariadne's eyes widened in horror, but she started laughing. "Arthur! No you can't."

"Eames then," he said calmly, undeterred.

"No, you may not!" Ariadne insisted, capping her make up and digging back into her purse. "I thought you were joking!" she told him, askance.

"Ariadne," Arthur started, attempting to be reasonable, "what do we even know about Freddie?" When she didn't answer, he continued. "I think I'm right on this."

She turned around, a little pink, a little incredulous. Her eyes looked frantically around like she was trying to gage his demeanor. "What do we even know of Gabrielle? Or Hortense? Or Jacqueline? Or the slew of women I've seen you pick up at the bar?" she demanded. "It's not anything different, Arthur."

Arthur felt a million times embarrassed as he heard just a sample of his list read out to him. He felt himself go red at her tone too. "It's not, yes," he allowed. "But I just—"

"Just what, Arthur?" Ariadne asked, almost nose to nose with him. Arthur saw how her hand went to her hip and how her head tilted to the side, waiting for him to say the wrong thing.

I just worry for you. He didn't think that that was the right thing to say at this moment, but neither was his silence.

Ariadne rolled her eyes. "I've been just fine living here for the past two years, I think I don't need you to worry about me," she informed him, taking a few steps away.

Arthur turned to keep watching her walk away. "What's his last name?" he called out.

Ariadne didn't turn back as her heels clicked against the cement floor of the warehouse. "Have a good night Arthur!"

* * *

Two lone lamps were the only source of light in the dark warehouse as Eames sat typing on his report on Browning. Jet-lagged, he wasn't used to the right sleeping times, and egged on by the point man, sat at the desk behind the lawn chairs to write up his report for their meeting tomorrow. Somewhere in the depths of the warehouse, Yusuf and Cobb experimented on more serums.

"I'm sure she's fine, Arthur," Eames was saying while Arthur sat on his lawn chair, reading a folder of information. He said a few other things in that droll way of his—droll being the way everyone but Arthur saw it—and Arthur wanted to swat him away much like a mosquito.

"I don't like him," Arthur murmured, reading an article.

"Who?" Eames asked, and Arthur had the awareness to hear and slow down his panicked, pacing heart. He had a tendency to murmur to himself as he read and worked sometimes, especially if things weren't to his liking.

"Nothing."

"No." Arthur could hear Eames' smirk a mile off. "You said you didn't like him. Who is it you don't like, Arthur?"

A staring contest ensued, one that Arthur took part in, despite the back of his mind telling him how childish it all was. "Freddie Hadley," Arthur said finally, egged on by Eames' laughing eyes.

"What?" Eames seemed surprised, though Arthur attributed this to his cluelessness at the fact that Ariadne met someone—Eames had been in the States doing recon—and that she went out tonight—he was passed out on a lawn chair when Ariadne left. Jet lag.

"The guy Ariadne's going out with," Arthur elaborated, lounging back down. "His name is Frederick Hadley. He works for the law firm over on the rue de—"

"No, darling, how do you know this?" the Englishman asked.

Arthur leveled a look at the forger.

Eames looked serious, a new look for him. "Indulge me."

"I just ran the credit cards at the bar the night they met, looking for the name Freddie or Frederick. There were three, so I checked the one that routed to a Canadian bank. It wasn't hard," he murmured.

"And how long did this take you?"

"Not long," Arthur replied, though it did take him a little over an hour, and after that it too him two more to get the basic information he needed on the guy. "But what do we know of this guy? He's a stranger."

Eames blinked a few times.

"You know I'm right."

Eames didn't deign him with a response.

Arthur turned away, feeling that the forger was studying him too closely; he went back to his folder of quickly sought information and started to read of Freddie's grades in high school.

"That's it," the man behind him announced so suddenly that Arthur half started in his seat. "We're going to get a drink."

"I'm not thirsty."

Eames was already standing, pulling on one of his terrible, too big suit blazers. The color didn't even match his trousers. "Too bad. You're coming with me."

"I have work to do," Arthur insisted, grumpy.

"You're not going to research our poor architect's new beau. I'd rather she not feel even more embarrassed after all of the shitty lectures we've put her through," Eames said, his hand on the back of Arthur's lawn chair. "Right?"

Which was how Arthur found himself sitting at their usual place, watching a soccer game he had no interest in, and listening to Eames attempt to pick up a woman at the bar. He felt grumpy at being dragged here. He felt grumpy at the fact that he was with Eames. He felt grumpy at the thought of seeing Ariadne in a booth next to the supposed amazing Freddie. Right over there by the back.

Holy crap. It was. He wasn't just seeing things.

Arthur played it cool, but he also had a copious amount of whiskey, having used it to ease this amount of grumpiness he felt at the world at the moment. Being such, he could also tell that he wasn't in the proper mental state to put on a full recon mission in front of Ariadne. He needed help.

"Eames," he said, coolly, sidling up behind the forger, who barely spared him a glance as he continued to speak to beautiful woman. Arthur was getting grumpier. He poked the forger in the shoulder. "Eames."

Eames swatted Arthur's finger. No. Arthur poked again. Eames swatted. No. This was important, Eames. Leave that woman alone.

Eames turned to him, scowling. Apparently, Arthur had said those things out loud. The woman stalked off, amused and almost relieved. "What is it, Arthur?"

Arthur explained to him, in a calm, quiet manner, what he saw.

"Why are you yelling at me?"

Arthur didn't realize that he was.

"The first rule of being sneaky, darling, is to not be in your cups," Eames advised, irritated. "And I don't care if Ariadne's with Freddie over there. Leave them alone. I'm not helping you."

Arthur wasn't one for begging. He was the best at what he did anyway, even if he was slightly disoriented or slower because of the whiskey. He glared at the forger and stalked off.

* * *

Freddie Hadley had this hand on Ariadne's thigh, partially where the fabric of her dress ended and partially on the bare skin. Freddie was clearly a lecher.

Freddie Hadley wore a gray suit and a green satin tie he probably left work in. Obviously, he didn't put in the effort one should take with someone like Ariadne.

Freddie Hadley ordered Ariadne a cocktail, when Arthur knew she preferred drinking beer. Freddie clearly wasn't attentive.

Freddie Hadley swooped in to kiss Ariadne as his hand swooped higher up her hip. Frankly, he was a cad.

Ariadne held a stopping hand over Freddie's roaming ones. Actually, she could handle herself.

Ariadne also spotted Arthur a few tables down from them, locking her eyes onto his, before frowning and then glaring. Clearly, Arthur was in trouble.

* * *

Arthur didn't know what to expect when he woke up on Ariadne's couch. He slid up right, dragging his face over his cheeks, nose, down to his chin, looking at the sunny apartment at large as he leaned forward onto his elbows.

He spotted his suit jacket neatly laid on the back of a ratty chair and his loafers at the foot of the coffee table, where his tie sat rolled up. The sleeves of his dress shirt were loose, and he saw that his cuffs had been undone. His vest was unbuttoned as well. It was all carefully, thoughtfully done for his own comfort for sleep.

"You're up," said a chipper voice behind him, and he looked over his shoulder to see a bedraggled looking Ariadne pour a copious amount of sugar into a mug. She stirred, smiling to herself. "I made you coffee," she informed him, walking over in bare feet, a raggedy t-shirt, and boxer shorts. She took the seat right next to him on the couch, smiling but looking a little worst for wear. She also held a closed fist above his him, waiting for him to open his hand. He did and she dropped two aspirins into his palm. He dry swallowed them.

He thanked her for his mug and took a sip, allowing it to settle, before he spoke. "You're okay?" he asked, looking at her.

She nodded, holding her fingers over her lips thoughtfully as she stared in the direction of her television. "Fine," she said after a few seconds, bringing her hands around her mug to drink.

"I'm sorry about last night," Arthur started. "I didn't mean to—"

Ariadne shrugged. "Freddie understood how friends could be."

"Yeah?" Arthur said for lack of a better response. "Did you tell him that I wouldn't be there next time?" he joked, sipping his coffee.

She smirked. "I doubt there will be a next time with him."

Arthur battled with feeling guilty over losing Ariadne's first good prospect but gleeful at helping her ditch such an idiot. He apologized, though the smile tugging at his lips, which he hid behind his mug didn't help. She saw and rolled her eyes.

"And I know you were doing it out of concern, but I really don't need your help, Arthur." She stopped, and then laughed. "Okay, so I don't need your help all the time."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

"How did I get here?" He vaguely remembered reading a text from Eames about how he had left with that beautiful woman, and that Arthur could grab a cab with Ariadne once he was done ruining her date.

"Well," Ariadne began thoughtfully. "After, I went to lecture you, you stalked off to the bar, got angry at your phone, then cursed at it a bit. I realized you probably weren't fit to go home on your own."

Arthur took a long drag of his coffee. "Well, thanks," he said, a little stifled by embarrassment. Her story corroborated his bleary memory and made stark sense. Ariadne sat back, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

He looked over his shoulder at her. "What?"

She shrugged, smiling still. "You've got my back, Arthur," she said.

"Yeah," he conceded, warily.

"It's nice."

And Arthur had to agree with that as he settled into the sinking, soft couch too. Ariadne didn't press him for more information or lecture him like he thought she would. She kept relatively quiet over it all, talking quietly to be thoughtful over his headache, and also sensing her own eyes droop slightly. And somewhere along the way, Arthur found himself settled down to watch a movie with the architect, laughing over his findings on Freddie, and fighting over takeout menus all on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

* * *

Arthur woke up and realized his arm was asleep. The reason being the tiny head of the architect lulled back onto it. He wished he could pull it back without her noticing, but he didn't want to cause injury or wake her. He was a gentleman after all.

Arthur couldn't tell what time it was, but in the glowing apartment was dark now, and their third movie was done. The screen black when everything played out apparently.

But what was significant was how Ariadne's body was curled towards his on the couch, how her head fell back on his arm, and how her knees were pulled up and pointed towards him. Arthur was no better. He had his arm out for her. His bodied angled to accommodate her. And he woke up with his cheek resting in her hair.

Ariadne stirred awake too, probably because she had this inane sense that she was causing someone discomfort. She blinked up at him, before sitting up suddenly. She was quick with an apology, as she straightened her hair and clothes.

"It's fine."

Ariadne looked guilty for some reason. "You don't happen to have a haircut, or a job interview, or a squash game do you?" she asked, scrunching her face.

Arthur remembered their conversation from earlier and laughed. "Why do you ask?"

Her eyes were closed. "Because it would really help in alleviating some of this awkwardness," she said. She peeped at him.

"Ahhh," he replied. He gritted his teeth in mock frustration. "Unfortunately, no."

She flexed her fingers in thought. "Yeah, well, you can go if you want," she said. "I mean, not that we did anything, but snuggling with a coworker seems really weird—"

Arthur sat up straighter, pulling himself slightly up with a sudden change in demeanor. "We weren't snuggling," he insisted, and even he felt his face flush at the childish word. He straightened his collar. He cleared his throat. "And besides, it's only awkward if we decide it's not."

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

"So…"

"So you want to get late dinner?" he asked. She smiled.

* * *

They were trying to time the kicks with the musical countdown. They were also failing at it, slightly.

"I almost hate this song," Yusuf said as he sat up.

They called it quits for the day, and Arthur stood up to wind up the tubes back into the case. "No one said it would be easy," he said.

"Yeah, well, but it'll be worth it," Eames said with an impressive whistle, sitting back in the lawn chair with his hands behind his head. "I can settle quite nicely for a while with Saito's promised payoff."

"That's if it gets done, Eames," Arthur reminded him.

"And that's if we get this damn music in sync," Yusuf grumbled.

"Still though" Eames replied cheerfully. "A man can't dream? What is it you plan to do with the cash Yusuf?"

Yusuf was standing now, straightening his shirt and touching his temple. "Travel more. With this money, I can hire a few more people to run the operation back home, and maybe me and my wife can explore other cities."

"That sounds wonderful," Eames congratulated. "Me? I'm going to disappear for a bit, probably try to settle down and live a life of pure heedlessness."

Yusuf laughed. He turned to Arthur. "What about you, Arthur?"

And Arthur barely looked at him as he snapped the suitcase closed. "I'm going to keep working." But even Arthur knew that he didn't want to do it anymore, something in him telling him to slow down.

And Eames frowned. "That's Arthur. He's a robot."

* * *

They hadn't been at the bar in a while, and Arthur realized that this had to be their third—fourth?— time hanging out. That was more than he could say for any woman since Laura, really, and he almost forgot how often he would pick up women at the bar. He hadn't in a while.

In his pocket, his phone buzzed as a reminder. It was Gabrielle, again. He ignored it.

Arthur sat on Ariadne's couch watching yet another one of _those_ movies. It was one of those lighthearted romances with chicanery and a cute handle. He arched an eyebrow at the architect when she came over bearing gifts. She handed him a bottle of beer and set the popcorn bowl on the table before them.

"What?"

He gestured with his chin towards the screen. "I think we found the root of your problem?" She followed and looked over her shoulder.

"Television rotted my brain?" The end of her statement ended with a lilt, a question, and Arthur laughed at it, shaking his head.

"These movies. They've given you these unrealistic ideas of how everything works."

Ariadne sat down next to him.

"Arthur, if women didn't have these," she said, gesturing to the paused screen, "we would probably have a higher expectation of men, but thanks to these films, I'm pretty sure we know the difference between reality versus fiction."

Arthur didn't say anything but folded his hands over his chest. "I think I'm right."

She rolled her eyes. "Just admit you like them too," Ariadne teased.

He didn't say anything, then, "Eames knows nothing about this."

She mimicked a lock over her lips.

And Arthur smiled, ignoring the continued buzzing of his phone in his pocket.

* * *

"Nope."

"What?" Ariadne asked, incredulous.

"Where is he going that means he can't call you?" Arthur asked, sitting across from her one evening after work.

"He might be busy. It's a business trip," she explained, her mobile in one of her hands. Freddie surprised them all by texting her that he hadn't called because of some business trip he was taking out of the city. Still in France, mind you, but out of the city.

He shook his head. "No, Ariadne. There's no excuse for that."

"So you're telling me that I'm not even allowed to try to get on this guy's radar?"

Arthur sighed. "I'm telling you not to waste your time with guys who aren't interested. Remember, he barely passed Art History." That last topic they figured out, pouring over Freddie's file was a tie-breaker for Ariadne, or so she had said at the time as they studied his transcripts.

She sighed, resigned but laughing at herself. "Then who'll be left?"

Arthur reached over and placed his hand over hers as a means of comfort. "The one worth having," Arthur said.

Ariadne looked like she wanted to say something but stopped herself before. She pulled her hand back, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Ariadne, what is it?"

"Who was the girl?" she asked quietly.

"What?"

"The one that broke your heart," she elaborated.

Arthur felt himself harden, his natural reaction when this subject was brought up. "There wasn't."

She looked skeptical. "Arthur, it's your job to study people, and you do your best so that people can think the best of you," she added. "But, you're not infallible to other people's scrutiny, and you're not infallible to hurt. You're so closed off and removed from other people, and you've been really nice helping me, I just thought—"

"I don't feel like talking about it, Ariadne," he said, rudely cutting her off, pulling his hand back to himself since he was still sitting with it stretched out across the table for her.

She looked hurt but determined. "Arthur, you have this mindset that you have it all figured out, that you're way above it all, but what is it that you're not saying?" She smiled. It looked forced as if she was trying to make light of the situation. "Look, if you're hurt or you're mad or you're even just numb, I really do know what that feels like, and I wanted you to know that—"

"—what is it that you know, Ariadne?" Arthur demanded. "I'm not Cobb. I don't need your intervention."

"I know that," she retaliated. "But I just—"

"Stop putting your foot into everything. Stop trying to fix every stray dog near you. I'm not like _you_," Arthur rebutted. "I don't need help."

And while a part of Arthur, angry, hurt, hostile, said these words, he saw the transformation of shock to defeated to annoyance on her clear face. She flushed deeply, from either anger or embarrassment, he couldn't tell, but she seemed to preen right before his eyes.

Arthur turned away, which was probably worst from her perspective, because he heard her exhale, strongly. "Fine," she said, looking anywhere but at him. Her tone was just as angry. He watched as her hands fiddled in her lap, and Arthur felt more of a cad than he did two seconds ago. He didn't know what to say to make it better, and he knew he missed his chance answering her.

But Ariadne, thoughtful and always a step ahead, stood up, mumbling a small apology and picking up her cardigan she slung on the back of her chair. "I'll see you tomorrow," she had said, before stepping past him.

* * *

"Arthur," Eames started, stepping up to his desk as he worked. Arthur tended to ignore him on a day-to-day basis and this was no exception. "I don't know what you said to Ariadne, but you need to go fix it."

Her name and the rancor in his tone made him start. "What?" He hadn't spoken to Ariadne for the whole week since she left him at the bar. He ventured an apology dozens of times, and while Ariadne accepted him, he felt her pull away from his presence. He didn't spend time at her desk anymore. He was back to his own. And she didn't need him as much to work on his level. She was onto Eames' now.

"She didn't say anything," Eames reassured him. This in itself was odd because Eames never reassured Arthur of anything. "But I can tell that something different between you too, and I know it's your fault," he accused, pointing a finger at her.

"How are you so sure it's me?"

But even before Arthur voice this question allowed, Eames was stalking off. "Fix it," he ordered.

* * *

"Her name was Laura and I knew I loved her."

He didn't know how he brought himself to actually say something. He didn't plan to say much at all, really, but he found that when he started, he couldn't stop. It turned out that once he started, he wanted her to know the whole story.

Arthur sat down next to Ariadne up on her worktable. Not facing one another he went into how he and Laura were actually really similar. How they fell in love and spent time, exploring New York together, but how they grew apart, because of him. How she found someone else to find comfort because he chose to leave too often. How he knew that it was his fault in the first place that it all happened and that was why he didn't like to talk about it. Not even with Cobb.

He told her how he planned to cut ties once and for all, going back Stateside to settle the apartment and get everything in order. He told her that he was done with her.

Ariadne looked thoughtful, taking in the weight of everything he had said carefully, her fingers gripping the edge of the table as her feet dangled down next to his.

"It's not all your fault, Arthur."

"What?"

"Her cheating on you? It doesn't mean that it's all you. You didn't make her make that decision."

No, but he wasn't there to ensure her faith in him.

"And yes, while you weren't there, and while you chose work more over than her, she chose to handle her insecurities in that way. She chose to not talk about it with you or break it off. She chose to avoid conflict with you.

"You can't keep blaming yourself for it, and while it's admirable, despite sleeping around to cope—" she gave him a knowing glare. "It's not right."

She jumped off and stood, so he followed suit, stepping down. She smiled. "But thank you for telling me," she said, quietly. "I'm sorry I pried."

"I'm the one who is sorry," Arthur said. And she looked at him, the corners of her lips, down-turning unintentionally. "What's wrong?"

And Ariadne shook her head, until Arthur pried it out of her. "Nathan's here," she said in such a quiet way that Arthur knew was a result of her trying to keep her voice from wobbling. "He came back with Sophie." Arthur waited for her to continue her broken explanation.

But she didn't, and Arthur didn't hesitate as he closed the gap between them, stepping forward and pulling her into the circle of his arms to bring her in for a hug.

"I still think you're an ass for snapping at me," he heard her say as he held her in place.

"Yeah, I'm an ass," Arthur agreed.

"And you owe me a round tonight," she pushed.

"Fine."

"And you have to be nice to Eames."

"I'm always nice to Eames," he insisted. At her doubtful expression: "As nice as I can be," he repaired.

"And—"

He held her at arms' length to see her watery smile. "You're really milking it for all it's worth, aren't you?"

Ariadne shrugged. "Shut up. I'm heartbroken."

* * *

He should've thought this entire night through when he suggested they try a new place. Believing that a new venue might take Ariadne's toiling mind off her ex-lover's return to Paris, he gave her the option of picking anywhere for their after work drinks, to which Ariadne smiled and selected some joint she and Sophie used to frequent. It was some dive that relished an old jukebox and an old man bartender who knew Ariadne by site when they entered.

They sat at the oak bar, Ariadne smacking as she downed a tumbler of whiskey, chosen because it was Arthur's usual and she wanted to give it a try.

Or two.

Arthur could tell the dwindling awareness of her actions as Ariadne too happily, chatted nonsensically about some of her design inspirations, though she wasn't gone.

"Cobb's an amazing architect, you know?" she asked. "I've seen some of his early design blueprints in Miles' class. It took me a minute to make the connections of the names, but I remember DC. It was written in the corner of some of the examples we've looked at before. I wish he could see that—" she hiccupped, stopping herself politely. "It's a pity."

Arthur didn't say anything, watching instead as Ariadne's delicate, index finger circled the water ring left by her previous glass on the bar top.

"I've tried to talk to him about it, actually," she said, soberly. Her finger went clockwise. Then counterclockwise. "Did you—" She stopped suddenly. Her eyes widening in surprise, and her lips folding into a thin line. "We should go," she whispered suddenly, dipping her chin in such an uncharacteristic way, and Arthur immediately felt on his guard as he looked up to where she was looking before.

By the door stood a pretty blonde girl with long straight hair and a taller man next to her. He had medium-cropped curly hair and a nose similar to the girl's, and while he wasn't necessarily scowling, he did have this certain gravity about him as he walked in behind the girl. Arthur could tell they were brother and sister. Arthur knew that this was Nathan and Sophie.

Ariadne made a grab at the leather strap of her bag that hung on a hook under the bar top, but Arthur was quick to stop her hands. "It'll be fine."

And Ariadne quirked one of her defined eyebrows at him, worried, but she nodded, determined.

* * *

Ariadne led Arthur down the street to the main thoroughfare, where it would be better to grab a cab.

"I honestly don't know what else to say," she said. Her voice came out in excited, breathy gasps as she walked ahead. "I couldn't have done that without you."

Arthur smiled as he followed, remembering how Nathan and Sophie spotted her so easily. Sophie's regrettable expression and Nathan's genuine happy one. They came up to her—no other way around it really—and Sophie did her best to navigate the touchy area of greetings, suggesting they actually go to another bar maybe. Nathan seemed easy and cool, telling Ariadne that she looked nice and asking how school was going, noting some story that only they both would know. And Ariadne did her best to play along as she told Sophie it was fine if they stayed, returning compliments to Nathan too, and looking extremely uncomfortable as Nathan tried to only talk to her.

And as Nathan, unaccountably or perhaps just lacking in the social grace, wore Ariadne down with stories of the past, easing in facts about his current state of affairs—which was touchy already as some inklings of that other woman came through—Arthur sought Ariadne's hand that rested on the edge of her barstool.

Her fingers held a deathlike grip on the worn wood. And she flinched slightly as his fingers curled around hers, steadying her wary, trembling digits. Arthur himself could see that it had a significant, reassuring difference on her as her shoulders sagged slightly and her face went back to its normal coloring.

Nathan noticed too, and his eyebrow rose as he looked from Arthur to Ariadne. "I'm sorry," Ariadne said hastily, her hand easing out of Arthur's as she gestured to him. "This is Arthur. Arthur," she said, turning to him. "This is Nathan."

They shook hands, and Arthur attempted a smile.

Nathan smiled from Ariadne to Arthur. "How do you two know each other?" he asked conversationally, and Arthur saw with satisfaction at how Sophie's eyes assessed him and Ariadne together. At how predatory Nathan seemed to be.

Ariadne, however, wasn't as cool. Her eyes widened slightly and she started to talk about working with him at a new project Miles set her up with, and Arthur knew that her awkwardness stemmed from the self-consciousness to lie about their job, not the fact that her and Arthur had no real label on them.

But as she spoke, her own voice grew determined. She started to talk about this free-lance project for some boring company Arthur apparently represented, Arthur could read the small satisfaction in Nathan's stance, the smug smile, and the brief look of relief as she spoke. It annoyed Arthur, and he chose to wipe that stupid look off the stupid man's face.

As Ariadne spoke and as Sophie asked polite questions that Ariadne hedged with aplomb, Arthur slightly leaned back along the bar, comfortable with his arm resting on the edge, right at Ariadne's back. And to her credit she didn't react as his fingers began to wind around the end strands of her hair like he'd done it all the time.

Nathan's eyes zeroed in on this action immediately.

And as if picking up on the ruse as well, Ariadne crossed her left arm over her chest to her right shoulder where his hands teased her hair, and she clamped a hand over his, intertwining his fingers with hers. Briefly, and without breaking the flow of conversation, Ariadne gave him a knowing smile that Arthur knew would translate into something else before Nathan.

"I don't know what else to say," Ariadne said as they stood outside the busy street, the orange street lamps glowing a bit more. "Thank you."

Arthur shrugged. "It's the least I could do."

And Ariadne, smiling widely, just broke the gap between them, reaching towards him to encapsulate him into a tight hug. Her arms were delicious around his neck as she held close, and Arthur hugged her back, burying his head into her shoulder, her loose hair, the edge of her scarf.

He didn't realize that his arms ached to do this. He didn't realize how good it could feel to physically hold onto something for more than just reason or life-saving abilities. His arms tightened around her body and held her close for a moment, savoring it.

"Do you think they can see us?" he asked.

And he felt Ariadne shift to look a little off the block at the bar front's glass windows and clear view of them on the sidewalk. "Maybe," she assessed.

"Should I really convince them?" he asked, his voice teasing.

And Ariadne took a step back with that familiar questioning look on her face, and as Arthur began to angle his head towards hers, as he started to close that incremental gap between them, she stepped back, cracking any spell that Arthur had felt himself in a few moments ago.

She laughed, nervously. "I think we're safe, Arthur," she joked. She looked up the block, eyeing the cars. She turned her full attention to the road. "We should get a cab."

And she led further up the block, stepping away from him, leaving him feeling dumb.

* * *

**A/N:** How's that for rom-com goodness?

Thank you so much to . and Lauraa-x for their continued support of my stories. You guys are exceptional! And hearing from you always gives me a boost of happiness! Thank you!

*apologies to Music Is My Heroine for having to do that to your name. I've tried to add it so many times to this note, but FFnet keeps coding it out!


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:**__ Thank you to Ninna4444, MusicIsMyHeroine, Guest, and Lauraa-x for their reviews, and for supporting my rom-com obsession. Hahaha. It's true! This only made it worse. My new obsession is _When Harry Met Sally_, and I couldn't help but snag a line from there._

_Anywho, thanks for reading. Hope you enjoy this chapter, and thank you for sticking with me._

**xxxxx**

"He bought an airline?" Ariadne asked, laughing and walking back with him from the lawn chairs.

"Well, he's a businessman," Arthur said. "He can afford things like that." Saito just casually dropped the fact that he purchased an entire airline to help them with the job that afternoon. He thought it was necessary.

"You know, like I thought I'd need an umbrella one day," Ariadne joked. "I might have to incept an idea, and one of the longest flights in the world sounds pretty good-ho-ho-ho money-money-money." She laughed all the way back to her desk.

They were fine. Arthur knew that they were fine now, because work resumed in its usual way, and she spoke to him openly and freely just like before. But he felt different.

Ever since he came out about Laura, ever since he pretended to be her boyfriend, there was this lack of ease in dealing with one another, like they were careful to avoid anything that could be misconstrued. It's been weeks of this. And while they were back on joking terms. That was it.

They made their way towards her workstation and Arthur laid his folders on the desk, turning to face her. "Did you want to grab a drink tonight?" he asked, hoping to gain back some of that levity he was starting to miss.

He saw her hesitate for a moment, a fake smile plastered to her face. "No, um, actually, I can't tonight." She smiled a little tighter. "Eames, maybe?" she joked.

"Very funny," he replied.

Arthur didn't understand it himself, but he felt that there was some sort of filter between them. Ever since that run in with Sophie and Nathan, Ariadne remained cool towards him. No one went out to the bar anymore, a sheet of serious deliberation settled over them as the time came closer for them to pull the job off, but even then, Arthur had to admit that he missed it, even if Eames was part of that scheme.

He told himself that that was the reason he made his way to that previous bar, the one Ariadne recommended. He wanted a drink at least, and he didn't really want to go to the one the team usually frequented.

So he strolled back to that bar with his hands in his pockets, the cool air wafting over him, and his thoughts considerably clear of the job at hand, but with an unaccountable habit of going back to the architect.

She was frank and smart and unaware at how gracefully deliberate she was. She seemed to not care how she was perceived, but she was too self-conscious when it came to trying out the bar scene. She felt out of her element there, clearly, and Arthur liked that about her. It showed how little that meant to her.

And almost like an apparition, Arthur was surprised to see Ariadne sitting there politely at one of the tables as he came in. Arthur smiled as he watched her, grateful that she didn't see him at first as she studied her phone in her hands, and for once in his life, Arthur thought that this was perfect timing and did not attribute it to the right sort of planning or reading or anything.

He took a step in her direction.

And as he did so, he noticed something. She looked different, and on closer inspection, Arthur noted that she wore a delicate sundress with one of her signature scarves, that her hair was pulled loosely back at the nape of her neck, that she fidgeted slightly as she sat, as if waiting for someone.

And Arthur didn't really need to deliberate too long as he saw Nathan approach her with two glasses in his hands. He sat down.

The bar was busy enough that Arthur didn't really go noticed, and he was able to watch them from a far.

They looked cozy sitting there, talking in a stifled way, first Nathan, then Ariadne. He saw how Ariadne's hands—restless when she was nervous—tapped slightly on the table top. He saw how she looked slightly worried as Nathan spoke to her, though she nodded along anyway.

He also noted how Nathan looked almost desperate at her. At how his eyes lingered too long at Ariadne's throat, her fingers, her arm. At how he made excuses to touch her, saying something and physically prodding her with a finger or laying a hand on her forearm as he said something. Ariadne reacted to a few of these, sometimes pulling away and sometimes darting her eyes to see his hand on her. But other than that, she didn't say anything or so it looked.

And while Ariadne shook her head at something Nathan spoke to her about, Arthur felt a perk of triumph as she stood from the stool, gathering her bag and straightening her dress out. And while she made some sort of remarks to leave, Arthur noticed how Nathan's hand found its way onto her forearm. He gripped her tightly, and Ariadne laughed nervously as she tried to extricate herself. When that didn't work, she glared, speaking fast, but Nathan didn't let go.

Arthur didn't think. He was there in an instant. "Do you need help?" he asked, and Ariadne turned to him, surprised but then angry.

"Arthur," she said. "What are you doing here?"

Arthur didn't know what to say to that. The fact that this was mere coincidence sounded false given the circumstances, but that really was it. Ariadne knew that Arthur didn't believe in that stuff anyway. It wouldn't make sense. Then again his reply of "What are _you_ doing here with _him_?" wasn't any better. It made Ariadne angrier if anything.

"Arthur," she said, attempting patience. "Please leave."

"Why won't he let go of your arm?" Arthur asked, ignoring her.

"Look, she asked you to leave," Nathan said.

And Arthur studied Ariadne's face closely, seeing her face break into a frown as she let Nathan talk for her. "I'm sorry," Arthur said, his tone businesslike and deadly. He's used that voice on many an assassin or CEO. He used it on Eames when he was at his angriest. "I was speaking to Ariadne." It was deadly low, assessing, daring, and Nathan picked up on it immediately. He hesitated.

Nathan looked at Ariadne instead. "Jojo?" he asked quietly. That nickname had an odd affect on Arthur.

His thoughts went back to that conversation about that nickname, how deep a history these two people shared, and how Arthur was probably just a bystander after all. It made him realize just how intimate they could be, and Arthur didn't like dwelling on that.

He could tell Ariadne regretted the nickname as well, looking at Arthur almost pleadingly. "You should leave, Arthur."

And Arthur sagged slightly as he started to stalk off.

"What do you see in that guy anyway?" Nathan asked disdainfully. "He's too—" Nathan said. "He's an A-typical ass-hole is what he is. He looks like another corporate drone."

"Stop it Nathan."

"No but what is it really? What do you see in him?"

"You don't have a right to know anymore, Nathan," he heard her reply, acid dripping from her tone.

"That's just it, though. I want another chance."

"Let go of my arm, Nathan."

"Jojo—"

"I said to let go of my arm, Nathan."

"No I just—"

A bitter dragon took over.

"Arthur!"

Arthur looked at Ariadne, whose hands held Nathan's now slack face, as he held his own cheek. The people around them tittered with interest, and the bartender was nearby, assessing the situation. He started to speak in rapid French to Ariadne and Arthur, pointing wildly to the door. Ariadne tried to reply back, calmly, apologizing profusely, and Arthur stood there, numb. His fist numb. His face still in a scowl.

In the end, Ariadne caught a cab for Nathan, who held a balled up bag of ice against his face, leaving Ariadne and Arthur to stand there, assessing one another on the sidewalk.

"Did you follow me?" she demanded.

Arthur still felt numb to everything. He barely reacted during that kerfuffle to leave the premises. "No."

"Well, did you know I was seeing Nathan tonight?" she asked.

And Arthur inclined his head towards her. "No."

The questions were terse and tersely answered. He felt almost like a bad school student being scolded. Ariadne curled her arms across her chest, her tone clearly pissed. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you—"

"You don't owe me an explanation, Ariadne," he said callously, cutting her off to calm his own tangled nerves. "But when a guy is acting like that, he's just an asshole."

And her face darkened at his tone. Now, he could tell, wasn't the time for a lesson. "What the hell, Arthur?"

He looked bewildered. "What are you talking about?"

"I don't know what's gotten into you. I had everything in control. This isn't one of those times when I need a lesson from you."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah I could see that, clearly."

Her nostrils flared at this. "He just wanted closure and to apologize. He was just nagging me. I had it under control."

"Yeah, because you were leaving all right," he cut back.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, you were awful quick to meet up with him, when you were just pretending to be with me a week ago."

She had this false smile plastered on her face and she gestured out with her arms as she surged forward with her tone. "We're not really together. You can't tell me what to do or judge me on what I do."

And Arthur was incredulous. "You've been asking me to help you these past few weeks. You've given me access to tell you what to do, so excuse me if my concern seems random."

That visibly struck her and Arthur felt it deep down, below all of that façade. "I'm not going to feel bad for seeing Nathan," she said after a second. "I can see Nathan if I want to see Nathan."

"And I was trying to help," Arthur retaliated. The fact that this was her argument a week ago didn't go forgotten between them.

Ariadne looked irritated. No, furious. But she held it back, almost as if preparing to strike when it was time. Arthur didn't know what to do with that. "You don't need to stand up for me, Arthur," she said quietly.

"I was doing you a favor!" he insisted.

"Well, I'm not going to thank you for it!" she said, her voice rising. She seemed taken aback by her own volume and calmed herself. "Look, I wanted to talk to you about you throwing yourself at me last week."

And Arthur couldn't keep up with this change in topic, his beating heart unused to the rapid turn her face took. "What are you talking about?"

"You tried to kiss me, Arthur," she reminded, like he wasn't speaking English.

And Arthur tried to make light of it. He smiled in that way that could appease anyone from businessmen in meetings to women in bars, "Ariadne—" he began soothingly.

Ariadne seemed immune. Her feathers looked immediately ruffled by his attempt at placation. "I'm not just one of those girls you pick up in a bar, Arthur," she went on, still irritated.

"I know that," he snapped. "But I wasn't trying to—to—" Well, he was certain he was trying to do something. He wasn't _not_ doing what she thought he was doing because Arthur never saw her that way. Sure, he thought other men were crazy for avoiding her or being immune to her haphazard charm when they sent her into the field. Maybe he thought that she deserved much more than just being picked up at a stupid dive, but that was all teacher and grasshopper feelings. That was because he cared about her from a protective friend's, fake boyfriend's perspective. How did he say that in one fluent sentence? "Look," he started again. "I'm not—it's not that—" Where were his words? He was always good on his feet and reacting to the situation, but Ariadne had this maddening way to rob them of anything comprehensible.

And something registered on her that confused Arthur further. It amused her though. She almost smiled. "You didn't even know did you?"

He felt annoyed at her calm. "Know what?" he snapped, attempting to gain that ground he was scraping for.

"That you're into me."

Arthur's heart beat at that. His eyes bent down at her audacity. He felt himself turn red, but he also knew that she was wrong. He knew that she was doing that reading into things thing she usually does. "What are you talking about?" he snapped.

"You're into me." She said it so simply, so confidently, and Arthur felt himself start at this accusation.

He tried to calm himself and her down. "Ariadne—"

"Arthur, you're really into me," she said, almost joking now, and Arthur felt a prickle of annoyance at how she said it, at how she just pushed and pushed at people like this, at him about Laura, at him about advice. Ariadne didn't know when to stop sometimes. She didn't know when to quit. "You haven't picked up another girl in weeks, Arthur," she reminded him, unaware of his growing annoyance.

He looked up, away from her, as if to see if anyone else saw this. "Are you serious?"

"You've been to my place to just hang out. You are into me," she teased. "Like full on, into me."

And she looked at him as if she wanted him to be in on this joke too, like he should just laugh it off and tell her that she was being overtly romantic again. But no, Arthur didn't feel that familiar rumble of laughter or amusement when he heard all of this. He didn't feel like pretending with her or trying to make this better. "Ariadne, just stop." He wanted her to stop.

"And you can't see it," she said with this disbelief, picking this up on account of his own reaction. "But I know what I'm seeing, Arthur, and I know that you can't but it's okay because I am too and—"

He stopped her. His breath hitched at that. She said it so naturally. I am too. As if her feelings were just part of her for all the world to see. When she felt him studying her, she smiled.

It wasn't a joke anymore. Ariadne wasn't messing with him. Ariadne wasn't teasing him. Ariadne liked him. And a part of Arthur felt guilty for it. "Ariadne." She looked at him with her wide, big brown eyes, sensing his seriousness. "I have never given you any indication that I liked you more than a friend. Ever." Perhaps because of his speed or perhaps because of her annoyingly knowing tone, his own voice came out harsher to his ears as he tried to explain this. He wanted to explain it all away as fast as possible. "Ever," he emphasized. "And I never, _ever_ said I did."

For a moment, he felt like he did it as the silence between them began to settle over in a thick sheet, and he knew that this was just the band-aid being ripped off. Arthur saw the hurt that flashed across her face, but in a second she scowled. "You're an idiot, you know that?" she asked. "Because you're too jaded or logical to even stop and think about it." The smile plastered on her face was a grimace, holding back _something._

There was a slight shake of her head as she looked at him. "I doubt you even know what you've been talking about these past few weeks, so, Arthur," she said scathingly, "take some of your own advice, and jus think about it. Because it is getting _really _tiring watching out for you guys."

She was hurt, he had to remind himself. She was hurt and acting out to him as a result of spurned feelings. But even so, her speech cut him down to size right back. She wanted a reaction. Emotions build up and want catharsis, so people shove other people, if only to feel something in return, like credence to their emotions.

He thought of that logic. He knew of that logic, but he couldn't fight off that exasperation that she instilled in him. Arthur was askance. "Advice?" He repeated, incredulous. "You took advice from three men who are relatively strangers to you, and you ended up with your ex-boyfriend at a bar tonight." Ariadne's jaw was set against him and while she radiated off rays of anger, he couldn't help his mouth from going on, "The one who broke your heart and cheated on you. So forgive me, but I doubt you know what you're talking about."

She took a deep inhale through her nostrils, holding back. Arthur knew immediately as the words spilled out of him in a rapid way that he didn't mean it and that he hurt her feelings and that it was completely justified when her face fell.

She didn't yell at him. He thought maybe she would yell at him, but she didn't. She didn't punch him either. She didn't storm off, or say anything, or even look at him.

She just bit her bottom lip, her eyes worried. But only for a fraction of a second. In due time, her eyebrows knitted down in anger. In due time she locked eyes with him and scowled. In due time, she delivered her "Go to hell, Arthur" with such vitriol that Arthur felt like he should as a form of apology.

But Ariadne wasn't done yet, apparently. It came out as a struggle, but she got the words out with the same pumped feelings. Her fingers flexed at her sides. "You know," she said mockingly, "for someone who prides himself on being right and reading people—" she stopped herself, composing her thoughts.

"I know you're still grieving about Laura. I know that she hurt you, and that you can't seem to trust anyone else with your feelings," she said calmly, her tone changing to attack, "but that doesn't mean that you're allowed to judge _my_ decisions or how I handle things.

"Because I'm actually handling things. Unlike you or Dom, _I _try to handle things. I make mistakes. I make a lot of them, but I also do my best to learn from them, which is more than you can say," she said. She looked at him, giving him the opportunity to say something back, but Arthur was at a loss.

She shook her head, looking him over as if he was a lost cause, something she didn't want to deal with.

**xxxxx**

Ariadne told Cobb and Eames that she had projects for school to work on, and seeing as most of her designs were finished and everyone run down okay, she only came in the evenings to either check everything herself or make a few changes. She wasn't going under with them, so it wasn't that necessary for her to be with them during the day anyway.

He hadn't seen Ariadne since they argued.

Arthur would casually ask Cobb or Eames or Yusuf if they had heard from her, and most often, they hadn't, though Cobb usually looked like he had more to say but refused to chalk up the information.

"Why do you keep asking about my level?" Yusuf asked as Arthur came over for the third time that week to ask the chemist about his dream level. "I've already told you that—"

"Well," Arthur scrambled. "I know that she hasn't been here for a while, and I'm trying to—"

Yusuf looked perplexed. "Ariadne? She was here this morning."

Arthur felt himself hold his breath. He forced himself to act cool. "Really? When was this?"

Yusuf shrugged. "Early," he supposed. "I came in to test some compounds with Cobb, and she was here." He said it so casually and seemed so done with the conversation, but Arthur wanted more.

"How was she?"

Yusuf lifted his head from the test tubes around him. "She was fine."

Arthur paced to the other side of the Chemist's worktable. He forced himself to act casual as he leaned on the counter. "So school's done?"

The Chemist's attention was on the compounds before him and replied with a dismissive, "Yeah, I think so. She didn't say."

Arthur knitted his eyebrows at the Chemist's complete lack of help. "So what did she say?" he asked, studying his shoes, anticipating and waiting for a response.

But the Chemist was now exasperated. "Arthur," he chided, gesturing towards the chemicals around him. And Arthur nodded as if forgetting himself. He made some excuse and walked off.

Arthur moved into her space, surrounded by the design models and her sketches piled around him. He did minor fact checking on his files to pass the time, reading articles, and rereading them because he'd get to the end and realize that he learned nothing at all, just merely skimmed the sheet.

But he also hadn't stopped trying to contact her. The only thing was, she hadn't stopped ignoring his phone calls or his e-mails. At least they matched one another in stubborn tenacity.

He kept near his phone in case, and he looked at his phone now, lighting up the screen to check his incoming calls. Nothing.

He held it up to see if the service bars would rise. Nothing.

He saw Eames and asked him if he was getting proper signal in the warehouse.

Eames nodded, assuring him that it was the "Same old. No problems" and stalked off, leaving Arthur to turn on his computer and to write off another e-mail to her.

"Just admit it," Eames said, and Arthur looked up from his laptop to see the Englishman leaning on the long worktable. He clearly stalked back and eyed the point man's screen knowingly. "You're crazy about her."

Arthur scowled. "What are you talking about?" he snapped.

"Jumping when you think you hear your phone ring, the inability to focus," Eames reeled off knowingly. He stopped short and smiled wildly. "Feeling the need to bring her name up in random conversation," Eames added.

Arthur felt that that hit a chord, and Eames saw it on his face. The Englishman broke out into a smile. "I've seen it before, my friend, and it has happened to you."

The watching movies at her place, the advice, the dates he monitored, the snuggling. Memories came back in quick succession.

Arthur looked up, resigned. "Oh hell."

"Congratulations, Arthur," Eames said. "You're not a robot."

**xxxxx**

And Arthur had to admit that he liked her and that that like had potential and that potential was something he wanted to see happen. And that something was something that had to happen now.

Out of everyone it was Eames to make him realize it.

Out of everyone, Eames hit home.

There was something terrible and cruel in that, especially since Ariadne had told him the same thing the other night.

Arthur sat up in bed. The hotel room was dark save for the glowing light from the T.V. It was one of those classics that Ariadne argued for and Arthur thought silly. Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr meeting at the wrong time and wrong place. It had an odd pace and was silly at first, before stumbling into something extremely dramatic.

They hadn't watched this one together in one of their many viewings, but she mentioned it before. Arthur, having seen it in passing once, scoffed at her sentimentality, and Ariadne only argued more strongly for it. It was why she was so idealistic, he continued to believe.

Deborah Kerr was fighting off Cary Grant's advances, and Grant remained charming and tenacious.

Arthur got sucked right in.

Ariadne was right, and Arthur was wrong. About this movie amongst other things. Why couldn't he attribute this epiphany to her and not the annoying Englishman? He was never going to live it down.

Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr were parting ways on the ship, promising to meet each other later.

But at the same time, Arthur knew that that didn't matter.

Deborah Kerr's fiancé was asking her the truth about her time with Cary Grant, and Deborah Kerr was hedging it in such an obvious way that the audience and her fiancé just knew.

The fact that he was extremely chagrinned at having discovered that way was nothing. The fact that Eames made him realize everything didn't matter.

Telling her did.

**xxxxx**

"Get another seat on the plane."

Maurice Fischer was dead. He got the call from Saito and met him at the warehouse to get Cobb. He was staying late for some last minute experiments and wouldn't have access to his phone.

Arthur walked in on Cobb and Ariadne sitting up in lawn chairs.

It was the first time he had seen Ariadne since their argument. Cobb went right to Saito to talk logistics, and over his shoulder, Arthur looked at Ariadne, who avoided looking at him. Dom and Saito needed him to verify some information quickly, but after that Arthur went to Ariadne's worktable, hoping that she might be there. She was.

She was standing in front of his layer of the dream, or rather the design photos and her model for the hotel, the work they compiled together.

She looked up at his approach.

"That movie you loved was on TV the other night," he said, and Ariadne stiffened slightly at his voice.

"Yeah," she replied. "I saw it." He waited for the chorus. The: and it's not a silly movie, but it was there. He decided to change tactics.

"You're coming with us," he said and while this added wrench did nothing to satisfy his worrying Point Man mentality, he felt relieved.

"I'm trying to help, Cobb," she explained, coldly. "I'm sorry if that wasn't in your plans." He deserved that.

"I'm not here to talk about Cobb," he said and he supposed that the seriousness in his tone clued her in because she sagged slightly.

"Arthur, I don't really want to get into this," she started. "I'm having a . . . weird night."

"I've missed you," he cut in, then studying her face to see how she took this.

She tilted her head to the side, frowning. "Seeing as I haven't been here," she said sarcastically. "That makes sense."

Arthur looked at her, confused.

"It's a joke about targets," she explained, lamely, and Arthur knew that if she was joking, then she couldn't be that mad at him.

He forged forward. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she said, cutting him off and turning away from him. Her entire demeanor was cold, careless to even his small apologetic opening. "It was a terrible joke." And he could tell that she was just pushing him away, not being lighthearted.

He decided to not be deterred. "No, not about that, about what I said."

She sighed heavily clearly impatient to be done with him. "Arthur, let's not do this right now. We have a lot to think about with the job."

Arthur licked his lips as he started to list everything. "I didn't mean it. Insinuating that you knew nothing, for making you feel terrible, and for trying and successfully hurting you. I'm sorry."

He looked at her to study her reaction properly, and his face fell to see that his words didn't touch her at all. She remained impervious and angry. She pulled her arms over her chest, and her jaw was set as she considered him.

"You know, I've recently just learned what the power of guilt can do to a person." She said it almost thoughtfully, recollecting whatever made her say it. "And while, I know I should forgive you for telling me all of this, and for making such a big effort, I can't right now."

Arthur opened his mouth to say something, but Ariadne stopped him.

"It doesn't feel good to be told that I'm clueless. It doesn't feel good to be told that by a coworker I respect. It especially doesn't feel good to be rejected when I'm standing on a sidewalk, actually being frank with what I'm feeling."

Arthur stepped forward ready to tell her that she was wrong, because she was absolutely right. He swallowed. "—Ariadne."

"I'm not done, Arthur."

And there was something in her tone that made him stop. He swallowed his words, shoving his hands into his trousers. He nodded to show that he was listening.

She seemed to chew over her next speech, carefully, already fretful for some reason. Right when Cobb asked for an extra seat on the plane, she seemed forcefully cheerful. But now, excess thoughts were showing on her face. She stopped. She smiled. It looked wan and tired. "I respect that you told me that you're sorry and that you know you did something wrong, but I'm not going to pretend that that made it all better. I'll be a perfect team member on this job, so you don't need to worry. But after all of this? I don't want to talk to you anymore."

And while she didn't mean for her words to sting, Arthur felt his heart break at this. He felt his resolve waver, because he could see that she really, truly was done with him. She really didn't want anything to do with him, and a sense of immediacy took away his caution as he stepped towards her, his voice speaking before any thought could edit him. "No, Ariadne, I just wanted to say that—"

"Ariadne?"

Arthur was ready to punch Cobb in the face.

Dominic Cobb came forward, looking at Arthur, then at the architect. "Can we talk? We won't have time once we get going."

Ariadne looked at Arthur, then at Cobb. She looked somewhat confused but relieved at the interruption. "Sure. Sure. Let's talk."

Cobb had no idea what he walked into, and that made it worst for the Point Man. "Saito needs you right now, Arthur," he informed him, and Arthur set his jaw and fisted his hands, using all of his will to not punch his friend in the face.

Instead, he gave an agonizing look over to Ariadne, who looked like she couldn't care less.

**xxxxx**

With the plane rides, the airport, and the waiting, Arthur couldn't very well talk to Ariadne, less he wanted the rest of the team to hear him or less he have Eames to tease them about it.

Besides, he had to apologize properly to Ariadne, without censure or self-consciousness. He had to make it right, because, knowing that the person he cared for hated him in return wasn't such a great feeling to have.

For someone who liked planning, he clearly didn't think this through.

**xxxxx**

He kissed her. He tricked it out of her during the job, but he kissed her. While he knew it was a trick and that it was a shot in the dark, she didn't seem to think twice when she leaned in. He took that as a good sign, and he couldn't wipe that stupid grin off his face as he made his way through the baggage claim. He knew he could allow this emotion, because everyone on the team had the same look about them. It was a successful mission.

He saw Yusuf head to the bathroom. He saw Eames perk an eyebrow at Cobb. He saw Cobb make his way to Miles. And he saw Ariadne ignore them all completely as she grabbed her bag off the carousel.

And all Arthur knew was to follow.

**xxxxx**

He ran out after her at the airport, because something told him that these words weren't going to have as much power months, hours down the line. Something told him that her graces were going to be open to him now.

He caught up to her outside where the cabs were. "Ariadne."

He tapped her shoulder, and she turned around, bewildered. "Arthur?"

"I need to talk with you." He was riding on the high of a successful mission. A mission like no other. He knew he could do this now.

She scanned the busy groups milling near to grab a cab. "I thought I made myself really clear before, Arthur."

"You kissed me." It was his only line of defense at the moment, like exhaling. He put it all out there.

She looked irked and refused to face him. "I thought we had to wait to contact each other anyway," she reminded him, ignoring him. "Your rule, remember?"

"No. Now," he insisted. "It doesn't matter."

And she took a frustrated inhale through her nostrils as she licked her lips. He liked to think that maybe she picked up on the desperation in his tone or saw the sincerity in his presence because she nodded firmly. She stepped to the side for others to grab a cab. "What is it?" she asked, brisk and impatient. Maybe she just wanted to get it over with like a band-aid.

Hell, he'd take it. "You thought you were wrong, but you weren't," he told her, hoping to get it all out there before any more interruptions. But when he realized that his speech was already off to a confusing start—seeing as her face looked like it—he wished he had more planned or something more eloquent.

"About the job? Or Cobb?" she asked, attempting to catch up. He started out wrong, but he was also impatient. He felt something akin to a kid on the last day of school with the rest of summer ahead of him. Bolstered by the success of the mission, he went on.

"For God's sakes, Ariadne. I kissed you when we were under," he snapped.

She looked just as irritated. "I thought you did it out of pity!"

"What?"

"The clueless girl?" she reminded him. "You kissed me, and we never talked about it after that. We just went to set the charges." Did she not feel how badly he wanted to keep kissing her? Did she not know just how much he had to keep himself in check, as they were in that hotel room alone together? Did she not know how badly he wanted to do it that night he first met Nathan at that bar? Well, he didn't really understand then, either . . .

"We were working," he explained, but even to his ears it sounded like a whine. That was odd. Arthur didn't whine.

"You told me that if a guy liked me, really wanted to be with me, that he would make it happen. He wouldn't let anything stop him."

"What do you think I'm doing now?" he demanded.

But she was on a roll. "And when I was insinuating my own feelings, that same guy let me know how terribly wrong I was in the frankest, most humiliating way possible."

"I'm trying to apologize for that," he interrupted.

"I'm just trying to read the signs that you taught me to read," she said, compounding on his state with a ruthless shake of her head, and Arthur took a step towards her, gesturing for her to stop talking.

"Okay, how about this?" he posed, taking a deep breath. "If a guy comes to you, breaking his own professional rule of waiting months after a job to make contact, and if a guy tells you that you were right all along, and that he's a huge jerk, that _he's_ the idiot for not knowing in the first place, then he's definitely worth it," he concluded. During the speech, he started to pull her hands out, curling his fingers under hers as he spoke in a run-on-like-way.

And while he could see the ice melting away, he could also see that she wasn't yet done with him. Ariadne nodded, biting her lip in serious thought. She tried her best to pull her hands back, but he wouldn't let her. She didn't react at all to how his thumbs rubbed across her fingernails. "That's fair, but why does that happen?" she asked. "Why can't he just listen to reason when a woman is delivering it oh-so-eloquently the first time around?"

He studied their hands together. "Because a guy is a little slow on the uptake, and requires the patience and fortitude of the woman to allow him to learn it on his own. So when he realizes how he wants to spend his life, even if he made a mistake and is probably late, he wants life to start as soon as possible. He just hopes the girl can forgive him so that he can finally have it."

"And what is that exactly, Arthur?" she asked, eyes narrowed.

He stopped. "It sounds really stupid putting it in laymen's terms," he said, thoughtfully, pulling it towards him and considering her fingers, tightening his hold, feeling her reservations melt away as he pulled her towards him. Arthur tugged at her hand, bringing her closer. "This. I want this."

And he could see Ariadne's almost smile, genuinely at him. "And I just want—" she started, willingly being led towards him.

"Yes?" he asked, the space separating them considerably smaller.

"You to admit that you were wrong," she said with such an evil, saccharine tone that took Arthur aback for a moment. He laughed, nodding.

And Arthur, closing the gap between them, brought his lips to her ear as she held onto his elbows and his arms circled her waist. He didn't mind telling her so. He also didn't mind this really big lesson.


End file.
